


you see good in me

by LadyOfPurple



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Crossover, F/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 12:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20008324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOfPurple/pseuds/LadyOfPurple
Summary: for @Baelkaz





	you see good in me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Baelkaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baelkaz/gifts).



There is a new student coming to class today.

Jester bounces on her heels, waiting impatiently for the light at the crosswalk to turn green. She is early, _too_ early, really, probably, but she can’t contain herself — there’s a _new student_. A new… potential friend? She can always hope. A potential enemy would be more interesting, she supposes — she’s never really had an enemy before — but either way she’s been bursting with excitement since her homeroom teacher announced the new arrival last week.

Beau and Nott have patiently endured her increasingly wild theories about who the mystery student could _possibly_ be — what could their interests be? Which cliques would they join? What do they look like? — and she _knows_ she’s been talking too much, knows they’re probably sick about her endless speculation, but... well, it’s all just so _intoxicating_. She can’t help herself.

There is a man coming down the sidewalk. She can see him out of the corner of her eye, limping awkwardly with cane in hand on a slow, careful trek to the crosswalk. He’s nearly there when the traffic finally slows and the light overhead tells them it’s okay to cross. She bursts forward, that bundle of nervous energy grasping the first and currently only outlet it has as she skips across the street. Only a few blocks to school left, and she wants to run, wants to _fly_ down the sidewalk and up the stairs to her classroom, but there must be at _least_ ten minutes until the first bell rings and sitting still would only be more agonizing than going slow. So she forces herself to calm, to take her time. It’s hard, _so_ hard, but…

The crosswalk light blinks, beeps its five-second warning, and her head flicks automatically toward the sound. The man is still making that snail’s pace in her wake, barely halfway across. She pauses, hesitating. There’s no _way_ he can make it across in time. Three, two, one… The light flickers back to red.

There’s a squeal of tires as a truck blares past her to the intersection, taking the corner too fast.

She doesn’t think before she acts, doesn’t even realize she’s started moving until her hands are around the man’s arm and she’s hauling him over the curb. Perhaps it was the truck’s sudden blasting horn that made her feet move on their own, maybe it was the way the man’s slow, deliberate movements didn’t falter — almost as though he didn’t even notice how close he was to something _awful_ — but it doesn’t matter, because her hair is in her eyes and she’s breathing hard, but the truck doesn’t even slow as it screeches past close enough to ruffle her skirt with the slipstream.

The man is blinking at the sudden change of scenery, glancing over at her with the greenest eyes she’s ever seen. “Oh my,” he says, accent unidentifiable. “Thank you, miss…?”

“People call me Jester,” says Jester. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

The man is hunched over his cane, nearly at eye level with her, and as she releases his elbow he rubs it experimentally. “I’ll be fine,” he assures her. “I would have ended up much worse if you hadn’t intervened, I’m sure. You have quite a firm grip.”

Jester grins. “I am _very_ strong,” she confides proudly.

“Indeed.” The man smiles back, and his eyes crinkle as he does. He looks so _nice_.

Off in the distance, a chiming bell echoes. School! She’d nearly forgotten in all the excitement, and she still has time before class actually starts, but that fluttering in her chest begins again as she remembers. “Well, I should be going…” she begins, and pauses. The hands gripping his cane are steady, but she remembers his limp and hesitates as she turns back. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He waves her off. “I’ll be fine,” he assures her. “Thank you again, _very_ much, Jester.”

She beams at him and rushes off, her pink backpack bouncing. She doesn’t see the expression on his ageless face shift, now contemplative and somewhat satisfied as he straightens to his full height as he walks back the way he came, cane swinging, limp miraculously cured.

* * *

Caleb rides to school in silence. This is not unusual, of course — children should be seen and not heard, after all; preferably not seen either, actually, but sometimes that can’t be helped — but the energy is different today. Tenser. Not that it isn’t generally so, but this is different. He has no idea why now, _now_ of all times, Trent has agreed to allow him to enroll in _real_ school, but he knows better than to question his adopted father’s decisions. It’s only that he’d been _begging_ to not be homeschooled for so long that once Trent actually _agreed_ he didn’t know what to do.

He’d never expected it to happen.

He’s a little scared, maybe.

He will never admit this fact.

He doesn’t know why Trent is in the car either — it’s not like he _needs_ to be, all the administrative business has been handled in advance. Caleb suspects he just wants to make sure Caleb doesn’t try to run away at the slightest modicum of freedom he receives. Not that he’d run away, of course. His life with Trent is… comfortable, after all. And even if the thought had crossed his mind, it’s not like he has anywhere to go. Who would want a runaway orphan anyhow?

The school isn’t what he expects when the car finally slows. Not that he had any real expectations as such, but it’s so… _big_. People milling around; high, clean walls; a few stone steps below a wrought-iron gate swung wide to reveal a sliver of spacious courtyard within. Caleb swallows quietly.

“Remember what I told you,” says Trent. It is the first time he has spoken to Caleb since they got in the car. Caleb nods. “Repeat it,” he commands.

“Four o’clock,” says Caleb. “On the dot. Right here. And not a second later.”

Trent smiles. Caleb knows this is supposed to be a fatherly sort of smile, but it has always made him feel like a rat in the den of a snake. “Good,” says Trent. And that’s that.

A bell has rung, and like magic every teenager in the area has vanished through the gate. Caleb exits the car, gripping the strap of his brand new messenger bag and breathes slowly through his nose. The anxiety is building, but he shoves it down. This is what he wanted. He asked for this. He _begged_ for this. He has no right to be scared.

“Remember,” Trent calls after him, “four o’clock.” And then the door slams and he is alone.

He is nearly to the gate when the car slowly pulls away, and he watches it turn the corner before he finally exhales. Somehow the shaking in his hands stills. He looks back at the gates, at the schoolyard and building beyond, and suddenly it doesn’t seem so bad anymore. He’s still nervous, but… well, he’s been through worse, hasn’t he?

He is steeling himself for the first steps into his new life when a cry behind him breaks him out of his reverie and he whirls, nearly tripping on the stairs in his startled haste.

A man lies on the sidewalk, groaning, a cane skidding to a stop a few feet away. Caleb does not think about it, does not consider that if Trent could see him he would have his hide, that he could be late and fuck up his very first day of freedom before it’s even started. All he knows is that he is the only person in sight, and he can’t leave someone lying in the middle of the street like that.

The man’s grip on his arm is firm as Caleb helps him to his feet. “Thank you, young man,” he wheezes as Caleb retrieves his cane. “Silly me, my leg completely gave out on me. Bad knees, you see.”

“Are you alright?” asks Caleb concernedly.

“I’ll be fine,” the man assures him. His age is impossible to determine — maybe thirty, maybe fifty — but his eyes have a youthful twinkle in them as he smiles, glittering green. “I appreciate your concern.”

Another bell rings, sounding louder this time, and the knot in Caleb’s stomach twists again. “I have to — are you sure you’ll be alright?” he asks. He isn’t sure if he hopes the man will say no, and delay the inevitable.

The man pats his arm. “Thank you, Caleb, but I’ll be okay,” he says. “You should get going. Wouldn’t want you to be late.”

By the time Caleb gets to the gate, the man is gone. He does not realize until later that he never told the man his name.

* * *

Jester cannot sit still as the class is called to order. Her leg jiggles with a mind of its own, and Beau elbows her in the ribs as surreptitiously as possible. “Dairon’s gonna give you detention,” she whispers harshly out of the corner of her mouth. “Quit it.”

“I can’t help it!” Jester bounces in her seat. “Ooh, I wonder who it’ll _be_!”

“Quiet down, everyone,” says Dairon. She waits until it is completely silent before speaking again, which takes a few moments as the whispers peter out. Jester has to concentrate very hard to keep from giggling. “Now, as you know, a new student will be joining us today. He should be arriving any minute.”

“ _He_ ,” whispers Jester excitedly, to no-one in particular. “It’s a _he_!”

“ _Shh_!” whispers Nott behind her.

“I expect you all to make him feel welcome,” continues Dairon, scanning the class with a keen eye.

As if on cue, the doorknob turns, and a boy slips in. He is tall, slim, with floppy auburn hair and Jester swears she catches a flash of icy blue as he casts his eyes down as the class turns their heads in unison.

“Ah,” says Dairon. “Perfect. Come up here. Everyone, this is Caleb Widogast. Say hello, Caleb.”

“Hello,” murmurs Caleb. His voice is soft, lightly accented. His eyes are still staring resolutely at the floor.

“Take your seat,” Dairon instructs. “There, right in the front.” Caleb slides wordlessly into place in the spot indicated, right in the front. Right in front of Jester.

 _‘His name is Caleb,’_ Jester smiles to herself. The mystery boy has a _name_.

* * *

The first half of the day goes by smoothly, far smoother than Caleb expected. It was strange, hearing other voices chime in when the teacher asked questions, but the lessons were much the same as they had been with Trent. The time flies by, really. It isn’t until the bell rings for lunch that he remembers his previous anxiety, and it returns threefold as his classmates explode in to chatter and the shuffle of books and bags as they gather their things to eat outside. He hadn’t prepared for this. What does he do now? Is he meant to just… talk to people? Does he wait for someone to approach _him_? Or is this a gradual sort of thing, where he is meant to eat alone until… what, exactly?

He is panicking, he should have thought about this beforehand, he should have —

Something sharp jabs into his shoulder. “Hey,” says a voice, bubbly and accented and distinctly feminine. He turns and —

Purple eyes is the first thing he notices, big and round and framed with soft lashes, impossibly long, impossibly dark. He didn’t even know people could _have_ purple eyes, but there they are, staring back at him, a mesmerizing blend of amethyst and indigo and violet and the blue of the ocean. Blunt bangs dip over dark eyebrows cocked in amusement, the rest of her hair thick, tumbling in tousled waves to her shoulders, curling around a round, freckled face dimpling in a grin. “Caleb, right?” the girl says. She draws his name out, _‘Cayleb,’_ she calls him, and his name has never sounded like a song before. He nods mutely, and those plump lips spread wider, her eyes glinting delightedly. The pencil she’d jabbed him with disappears, and she sticks her hand out instead. “I’m Jester,” she says.

The tan of her skin contrasts starkly with his pasty white and he feels almost embarrassed to take it, but the moment their fingers meet he doesn’t want to let go. Her hands are cool, the neatly filed nails short and vibrant, each one a different color. He looks up as she retracts her hand, and the bright, sapphire blue of her hair somehow makes her eyes even more stunning. He’s never seen a girl so beautiful in his _life_.

“You’re sitting with us today,” she says, and the tone in her voice is so matter-of-fact that even if every part of his body wasn’t screaming _‘Of course,’_ he would have been hard-pressed to argue. It is like it has already been settled, as though they’d already made the plans and she is just reminding him to follow through. He searches for words and finds none, can only nod instead. She bounces in her seat, clapping her hands. “Oh, this is so _great_!” she enthuses. “I’ve been waiting for _ages_ to meet you, you know, I’m so _glad_ , I’ll have to introduce you to _everyone_ —”

“She really hasn’t shut up about you,” says the girl to Jester’s left. “It’s kind of ridiculous.”

“Oh, this is _Beau_ ,” says Jester. “She’s really grumpy, but she’s really nice when you get to know her. And this is Nott,” she adds, as a short, plump girl with dark braids peeks around from the desk behind Jester. “Her real name’s Veth, but everyone calls her Nott.”

“It’s a nickname,” says Nott, almost apologetically.

“Is—” Caleb pauses, clears his throat, willing his tone to stay even. Has talking always been this hard? He tries again. “Is Jester a nickname too?” he asks.

She looks thrilled that he figured it out. “Yes,” she says.

“Well, what’s your real name then?” He’s surprised at his own boldness, and curses himself internally; if she introduced herself with a nickname, there was probably a _reason_. Barely five minutes into his first conversation and he’s already fucking it up.

Instead of anger, though, her expression turns mischevious. “Maybe it’s a secret,” she says.

Caleb’s heart skips a beat.

Jester stands, slinging a bright pink backpack bedecked in unicorn pins over her shoulder that clashes horribly with her hair, tugging up a knee high sock as she does. “Come on, slowpoke,” she teases, though there is no malice in it. “Before all the good spots in the yard are taken.”

He gathers his things quickly and follows her out, trailing behind Beau and Nott. His eyes are locked on Jester’s backpack, unicorn plushes dangling on chains and sparkling pins glinting in the light. She’s so… _loud_. Colorful. Bright. She’s smaller than him, much smaller — he could probably rest his chin on her head if she let him. And she’s _soft_ , all gentle curves and frills and freckles. He remembers the touch of her skin and the grip on his bag tightens.

Then she turns to him, slowing her pace so she can walk beside him. “You have a dimple on your chin,” she comments.

He blushes a little, hand automatically going to rub it as he glances away. “Oh,” he says. “Uh, _ja_ , yes, I guess I do.”

She bats his hand away, revealing his chin once more. “It’s really cute,” she says, and again it’s like a fact. Not up for debate.

 _‘Cute.’_ The word rattles around in his brain on a loop, and with every echo the fluttering in his stomach returns with twice the enthusiasm, but warmer this time. Nothing about him has ever been called _cute_ before.

“Ah… thank you,” he says lamely, and he kicks himself for it, but her cheeks only dimple again in response and she loops her arm around his elbow and tugs him faster, and his heart stutters once more.

“Come _on_ ,” she insists. “I want you to meet all my friends!”

He decides then he’d follow her anywhere.

* * *

The day passes by far too quickly for Jester’s liking and when the final bell rings, she tries to invite Caleb out for ice cream, but he apologizes and explains he has other obligations. She is… disappointed. She’s already itching for tomorrow, another chance to get to know him, and the hours can’t go fast enough. She races home, hair flying, and bursts through the doors of her mother’s bakery in record time.

Her mother looks up from behind the register and smiles wide as the tinkle of the bell above the door fades. “Hello, my little Sapphire,” she says, “home already?”

“I met the boy today,” Jester announces. “The new kid.”

Marion’s smile softens. “So it’s a boy,” she says.

“ _Yes_. And his name is Caleb and he’s really nice and he’s from Germany and he has a dimple on his chin and—”

She breaks off as Marion slips around the counter and cups her cheek gently. “Slow down, Jester, or you’ll run out of air,” she chides with a smile. “Come, I’ve started some bread in the back, it should be risen by now. Keep me company and you can tell me all about him.”

So she does. As Mama kneads, Jester tells her everything, everything Caleb told her, everything they talked about — about how he was homeschooled, about his adopted father, about his accent and the chin dimple and the way his blue eyes glinted when he smiled. “I should draw him,” she says after a while. “It’s been a while since I had someone new to draw.”

“You draw strangers in the park all the time,” Marion reminds her, folding the dough with a careful precision.

Jester huffs. “Yes, but I haven’t had anyone _interesting_ to draw. He’s so _interesting_ , Mama! And so… so….”

Mama raises her eyebrows knowingly. “Cute?” she suggests.

Jester stops. Considers. “I mean,” she says. “He isn’t _not_ cute, I guess?”

Mama hums, forming the dough in a neat loaf as she tips it into a pan. “You should invite him over,” she says. “I’d love to meet him.”

Jester brightens again. “I will,” she says. “He was busy today, but I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.”

Jester slides off the counter, sneakers making a quiet _pat_ on the linoleum floor. “I should put my backpack away,” she says, a little reluctantly.

“Come back down when your homework’s done,” Marion calls after her. “I have some cupcakes for you to frost.”

The best part about frosting cupcakes is getting to lick the bowl at the end. Jester decides to do her homework _extra_ fast today.

She dashes up the stairs, flinging open the door to her loft bedroom. She nearly trips over a discarded sketchbook in her haste, and her hands fly out automatically to catch herself against her vanity. Something clatters against her fingers, and…

What on _earth_ is _that_?

 _‘A jewelry box,’_ her brain supplies helpfully, but that doesn’t make any sense. She doesn’t keep her jewelry _there_ , and anyway, she doesn’t have a jewelry box that looks like _that_. It’s all dark wood and ornate carvings, a small octagon of _wrong_ in the middle of a sea of pink.

It looks ancient, too. She’s not sure she’s ever seen something that looks this old outside of a museum. She picks it up gingerly, turning it over in her hands as her backpack slides forgotten to the floor. The hinges are battered but unrusted, and the clasp is glinting gently in the low light streaming from her windows. Maybe Mama got her a present? But why wouldn’t she mention it downstairs?

Jester opens the box.

The sudden flash of light blinds her and she drops the box with a clatter to the floor. She blinks rapidly, surprised and a little dazed, and at first she thinks there are still spots in her eyes when she rubs them again — but no, there is definitely a _thing_ floating in front of her, a bug-like thing, red and black and huge blue eyes. It blinks once, twice, and smiles.

“Hello,” it says. “I’m Tikki.”

Jester screams.

* * *

Caleb does not even care that the ride home is even quieter than the ride to school. His insides have not stopped twisting and fluttering all day, and for once he doesn’t care. He stares out the window, but he doesn’t see the trees and buildings and cars passing by. All he sees are Jester’s eyes, and the dimples of her freckled cheeks as she grinned at him.

Trent is not in the car with him, but he is standing in the foyer of the mansion when the car pulls into the driveway. “Caleb,” he says when Caleb enters, in that jovial tone that makes his skin crawl. “My boy. How was school today?”

“It was good,” says Caleb, and he’s telling the truth, but somehow it almost feels like a lie under Trent’s gaze.

Trent smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It rarely does, but this time it feels as though Caleb has done something wrong. The happy fluttering in his gut melts away as he stands quietly under his guardian’s gaze.

“Good,” says Trent in that same jovial tone, but now Caleb’s gut squirms. “That’s good.” It most definitely was not good at all. It occurs to Caleb that it was not supposed to be _good_ , that he was supposed to come home in tears, begging Trent to pull him back out of school, that Trent would nod sympathetically and pat his head and say it was alright, that he could stay here and be safe, that he could be homeschooled and never have to deal with that nasty _other_ school ever again.

“Go upstairs then,” Trent says. “A snack is waiting for you. I expect you have a bit of homework to do.”

“Yes, sir,” Caleb murmurs.

“Bring it down when you’re finished, I expect to check it when you’re done.” Trent wags his finger. “Wouldn’t want you slacking off now, just because of a change in scenery, hmm?”

“No, sir,” says Caleb.

“Good boy,” says Trent, and disappears into his office and Caleb is dismissed.

In his room, Caleb lets his bag slip to the floor and slumps onto the couch, staring blandly at nothing. The room is much too big for him, with vaulted ceilings and perfectly designed furniture and nothing that is _his_ at all. He shouldn’t complain, it’s ungrateful, but sometimes it feels… _empty_ all the same. It was kind of incredible how quickly the remains of his good day had faded, how he suddenly feels as empty as his room. The lingering spark of joy from Jester pouting as he reluctantly declined her enthusiastic invitation out with her friends, with Nott and Beau and Caduceus and Molly and Fjord and Yasha and even little Kiri, the small girl with the wide dark eyes from the grade below them that rarely spoke but clung to Jester like a shadow — gone.

They could be _his_ friends, maybe. Someday.

He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, and decides to get started on his schoolwork — the less Trent has to wait the better — and bumps the coffee table with his knee as he rises.

Something falls with a muffled _thud_ to the rug below.

That… that _definitely_ didn’t belong here. He picks it up with a furrowed brow, turning the dark wood over in his hands. A box? For what? And where did it come from? It looks old, impossibly old, and the carvings are exquisite. Asian, maybe. Chinese? Art history has never been his strong suit. And it definitely wasn’t here when he left this morning.

Did Trent…? No, he couldn’t possibly. Trent never gives him presents, not like this. Certainly nothing so old. Possibly even valuable. It’s probably something from his collection, misplaced somehow. But then how did it end up here…?

Against his better judgement, he opens it.

The flash of light startles him and he stumbles back, the backs of his knees giving out from under him as they hit the couch and he collapses on the cushions. He’s blinking, trying to clear the spots from his eyes, but one of the spots doesn’t fade, and instead blinks back, oversized ears twitching as it yawns.

“Geeze,” says the thing, and a tiny tail flicks into view as it stretches. “That was a long nap. Hey kid, what year is it?”

Caleb has to clamp his free hand over his mouth to stifle his scream.

**Author's Note:**

> for baelkaz who thought it would be 2k and he got 4 instead _oops_
> 
> dipping my toes back in the miraculous fandom in a way nobody expected, least of all me. is this a oneshot? will there be a part two? a series?? who knows!! not me!!
> 
> [main.](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/)  
> [writing blog.](http://ladywritesthings.tumblr.com/)  
> [art blog.](http://bloodandpurpleink.tumblr.com/)


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